Dear Aunt Petunia
by GuidingHand
Summary: Harry is jealous that everyone else has someone to write to and he does not. His Slytherin side sneaks out and decides that the only chance these letters have at being read is if the events in his life are translated into muggle and his Aunt is encouraged to spread them as gossip.


Jealousy was an enemy Harry had battled and defeated many years past. He had come to think of it as The War of Denial and other than the occasional skirmish, he had won the war by the age of seven. Before then he had taken wound after wound. A floor scattered with toys and none that he was allowed to touch. A bed time story read after a door was slammed in his face. A stuffed animal ripped from his arms and tossed in the trash. The simple desire to own a single piece of clothing actually meant for someone his size. Food enough to settle a long empty gullet. Companionship wIth anyone. Just one day of being allowed the privilege of going someplace fun. All was denied to him. The war ground extended to school where he had to hold back from snapping at teachers that he wasn't allowed 'to do his best.' Who would believe him if he said he'd be punished if he performed well. He was punished anyway, just with detention instead of starvation, isolation or a belt.

In those early years he had fought the battle as any child would with tears of frustration, the occasional tantrum and spurts of magic. But his weapons never earned rewards, only punishment. He had tried the opposite, perfect behavior. But still the rewards were denied him and the enemy continued their bombardment with scorn, contempt and violence. Arms crossing his chest in a self embrace he'd watched the light disappear as the small door was closed and latched leaving him alone in the dark. Each night he would curl up in a ball on the crib mattress that lay on the floor of his cupboard. HIS cupboard. It was the only thing he owned; the only thing they didn't refer to as belonging to, or once belonging to, Dudley.

At age seven he had come to accept that that was all he had, all he would ever have. Years of belittling had culminated one night as his Uncle roared at him. "You are nothing. You deserve nothing. You are a worthless burden. Say it."

Emerald eyes popped in shock at the instruction.

"SAY IT!"

The child shook his head, tears dripping down his check. His arm was grabbed and he was dragged into the bathroom.

"Perhaps your lying mouth is too filthy to speak the truth," Vernon's mustache twitched, "Let me take care of that for you." Twenty minutes later a sobbing child lay in his cupboard, the bits of soap stuck in his teeth a reminder of the shame of finally bending to his Uncle's will, stuttering out the words, "I- I- I am nothing. I de- deserve nothing. I am a worthless burden."

Oh, yes, Harry had won the battle against jealousy nearly four years ago. Or lost it as it were. That first lesson wasn't the only. His uncle had ensured that Harry knew his place. Knew that he had none. By the end of the war Harry had accepted that he deserved nothing more than a bent hanger for his birthday, a lone mitten from a once matching set as a Christmas gift. It had begun with suppressing the jealous feelings and ended with him accepting there was no need for them as he was unworthy to have them in the first place.

He was lucky to be just Harry as he there had been a time when he hadn't had even that; when it had been so long since he'd been called his name that he had forgotten what it was. From the age of one until the week before Kindergarten he was Boy. Then his aunt had taught him his name and used it repeatedly so that when school started and teachers called on him he would know who he was. Once the name training was done she reverted back to Boy...or Freak.

The past two months he had been given more than he deserved, more than he had ever hoped to have. He was grateful for all of it: the bedroom, the robes, the books, cauldron and wand, Hedwig and a burgeoning friendship with Ron. So why with so much was he again feeling a burning jealousy? Currently, he was tucked in a small, dark alcove off a rarely used hallway, seeking comfort in the familiar, even if the familiar was a small, dark cupboard. He played through his mind all that he had seen since entering the magical world: children being hugged by parents at the train station; children begging for sweets and treats in Diagon, and receiving said treats; adults paying for school supplies; parents sending gifts even without a holiday in sight; the accepted expectants of regular meals by all those around him.

The rage directed at him by Snape, though unpleasant, was one of the few interactions he'd had in this new world that had felt familiar to him. Part of him sook to antagonize the man solely to generator anger towards himself. He spoke of this to no one. How could anyone ever understand that he didn't feel he deserved the kindness shown to him by some and the hero worship placed on his shoulders by others? They would never be able to comprehend if he told them he deserved to be yelled at, belittled and blamed for things he had no part in. So he irritated the man on purpose so he could feel how he was supposed to, a worthless burden.

Even as part of him strove for what was normal in his experience, he was beginning to acknowledge that what was normal for him couldn't even be rated on the scale as what was considered normal for others. He sat, struggling with the concept that others didn't seem grateful for things like a comfortable bed with sufficient blankets, regular meals and clothes that fit. His relatives had lied. Freaks didn't deserve less simply for being freaks. They deserved the same as everyone else. But considering that he now had so much more than before,why had he felt jealous? Consciously, he may just be becoming aware of the disparity between him and the other freaks- wizards (10 years of using the word freak was hard to break), but his subconscious had long since worked it out. The specific bout of jealousy that had driven him to this alcove and away from the common room was yet another night of watching his classmates writing letters home. He had no one to write to, no one who would read the letters in any case.

He sat up a little straighter. Did he need the letters read? A squeezing in his heart said yes, but he squished that away. He hadn't had control at the Dursley's; hadn't had the ability to get the things he needed or wanted. But this was something he could control, that he could achieve. Harry scooted out of the alcove and went in search of quill and parchment.

* * *

He had begged his way into the lions den and was a proud member of Gryffindor, but the sorting hat insisted that deep down Harry was a snake. With quill in hand, Harry contemplated what to write. The need to have his letters actual read squeezed inside of him again. He knew that no matter what he did the letter would likely become ash in the fireplace. What could he do to change that? Two minutes passed before an idea struck. Harry grabbed the envelope and flipped it over. Across the bottom he wrote: Juicy gossip. Under the flap he wrote: Everything in my letters will be normal. I will not write about anything freaky. All of it will be good gossip.

Maybe, just maybe, if the events were written in muggle terms the letters might get read. Then he put quill to parchment and began...

* * *

Dear Aunt Petunia,

The Home Ec teacher, Mr. Snape, detest me. We were making clam chowder and I was following the recipe exactly. The dunce to my right managed to burn his soup and Mr. Snape punished me for it 'cause he said I was just trying to show off by not warning the idiot that his soup might burn. Seriously? He's the teacher, not me. Isn't he the one that is supposed to be making sure stuff doesn't get burnt?

I'm doing fairly well in gardening, but I really don't get why we are supposed to have seven years of this class. It's not like it's terribly complicated to dig a hole, drop the roots in, cover'em up, water and weed. My guess is that were basically free labor and they're selling the plants and making a bundle.

They are really big into recycling here, so for art class we're giving stuff and told to use it to make something different. I'm doing really well in Chores Made Easy. Who would have thought that could be a class? It's taught by a charming short guy who has a name like a flickering candle... Flitwick.

I had high hopes for the martial arts class, but it turned out to be a dud. I can't figure out how the guy got the job. His voice trembles when he talks and he looks as if he'd faint if anyone tried to punch him. About the only thing he's taught us is to run and hide. As I figured that one out for myself when I was about five I'm not learning anything.

Another dud is history. The teacher's name is Binns and he and his book belong in a bin. He somehow manages to make dangerous battles sound like a politician's speech. The man has no inflection.

Our first night here they told us to make sure we get plenty of sleep and that the halls are out of bounds past 9:00 PM. The next morning they give us a schedule that includes a class that starts at 12:01 AM! I thought they must have screwed up and showed up at noon. Turns out they really did mean midnight! We have science at midnight! I do have to admit that looking through telescopes is pretty awesome. So, I guess I'll stay awake for science and catch up on sleep during history.

Well, that's it, my schedule: Chores, Gardening, Cooking, Recycle & Reuse, Star Gazing, and Duck and Run.

Oh yeah, and gym. I'm on the school football team. Apparently most of the people here must be real klutzes 'cause I made the team simply by catching the ball without running into a wall. Everyone started cheering and next thing I knew I was on the team. Is it really that hard to run towards a wall and stop before smashing into it? Apparently so 'cause they usually don't let people on the team until they are at least 13. Some of the players are 17 and I look like I'm about 8. I'm the shortest kid in the whole school! A few of the 17 year olds look like gorillas so I'm a bit worried that when we get to an actually game I'm going to get smashed into the ground without them even seeing that I'm there.

Well, that's about it for now.

Sincerely,

Boy

* * *

Dear Aunt Petunia,

There's grizzly bears in the school! First night here they warned us against going down some hall because it was dangerous, but this place is huge! Do they really expect new students to know or remember which hall they were talking about? None of the halls are labeled and they didn't even bother to put up a warning sign. I thought danger signs were just standard practice. In any case, what possible reason could they have for sticking three angry bears in a school, in a small room with a door that anyone can open and anyone can stumble upon? The door's only lock was an eye hook lock! I was practicing the move our defense teacher professed (run and hide) when I discovered that my hiding spot was scarier than the guy I had pissed off. I ran for it. I can't recall if I slammed the door when I left, or if I just lucked out and it shut on the bears. In either case, they didn't chase me.

Still breathing, but heart racing,

Boy

* * *

Dear Aunt Petunia,

Someone let a lion into the school! We were all at dinner when it got in and the idiot Headmaster demanded that we all go back to the dorms. What kind of sense does that make? Hundreds of kids wandering the halls with a lion loose. Not that I showed much sense myself. I separated from the group to retrieve a friend from the bathroom, only thing was the lion was already in the room with her. I started chucking things at it, but that just made it more angry and it started roaring at me. He swiped at me. I swear I felt his claw snag in my shirt, I barley jumped back in time to avoid getting evicerated. Then another student that had come with me started yelling at it and chucking stuff at it and then I did the most insane thing ever... I jumped on its back and clung to its head. The lion turned this way and that and I was nearly flung into a wall when he reared onto his back legs. The other kid ought to be hired by a pro cricket team. He snatched up a bit of pipe that the lion had broken from the wall and he walloped the lion in the head and it must have been some smack 'cause the lion passed out!

The truth, that our only intention had been to retrieve a friend from the bathroom and then return to the dorms, as ordered, would have been a perfectly logical and acceptable reasoning by 11 year old standards for how we ended up there. Instead, the girl we rescued came up with some cock-n-bull story about how she'd been to see Siegfried and Roy and because of that experience she was positive she knew how to tame a lion and had just brought the two of us along for backup. The second she said it I was sure all three of us were going to get the cane for doing something so idiotic. Instead we were each given a high five and told to go enjoy the desserts in the dorms.

At least Snape looked properly pissed at us, but he kept his mouth shut about it, probably because the person exalting our 'accomplishment' is the deputy headmistress.

Is a lack of sense a requirement for advancement in society? I suppose it must be based on the people typically hired for powerful jobs.

Sincerely,

Boy

P.S. Is Dudley's school as insane as mine?

* * *

Dear Aunt Petunia,

Someone drugged me today. They dosed me with something just prior to the first football game of the year. I was dizzy throughout the match and struggled just to stay on my feet. Despite that I made the winning goal. I told an adult who I thought did it, but they just brushed me off, saying it just wasn't possible a teacher would drug a student. Personally, I wouldn't put anything pass Snape, particularly since we were playing against his team. As best I can tell no investigation is being done into who did it.

Woozy and worried,

Boy

* * *

Dear Aunt Petunia,

I'm staying here for winter break.

Your present: You won't see me 'til June.

Happy Christmas!

Harry

* * *

Harry opened the envelope and found a fifty pence piece taped to the paper and the simple words:

Happy Christmas!

The Dursley's

* * *

Dear Aunt Petunia,

More insane, yet true gossip for you to spread...

The grounds keeper is one of my friends and I often take tea with him. He's a really great guy, but a bit clueless about how dangerous something's can be. Recently, he adopted a baby Komodo dragon! Komodo dragon spit is poisonous! My friend, Ron, got nicked by the little dragon and his hand swelled up and turned green! It took five conversations with Hagrid to convince him that the dragon has to go.

Ron's brother works at a reptile reserve so we got him to come to the school to pick it up. But if Hagrid had been caught with the Komodo after the lion incident he would have gotten canned, so Ron's brother came late at night and Hermione (the girl I rescued from the lion) and I carried the dragon out to him. It was boxed in a crate so we wouldn't get bit. We succeeded it passing on the dragon to its new care takers, but on our way back to the dorms we got caught.

The staff at this fine establishment decided that the correct punishment for wandering at night was to force said 11 year olds into danger and subsequently make them break both the curfew rule and another rule. By this I mean they sent us into the FORBIDDEN Forest! At 11:00 PM! To hunt for someone or something that has been murdering horses and when we found the murderer we were supposed to blow a whistle to attract the attention of an adult that could help us as we were sent on this search without an adult to look after us and only the whistle for "protection"!

Well I actually found the psycho drinking blood from the dying horse! I didn't blow the whistle. What kind of idiot would you have to be to purposefully draw the attention of a mad man to you. Didn't matter though, he noticed me anyway and started towards me, blood dripping down his face. Turns out we weren't the only ones hunting the psycho. A muscular guy with no shirt came riding up on a horse of his own. He shot a few arrows at the psycho and the psycho skedaddled.

I puked up my dinner. How could someone do that to a gentle horse?!

I feel like I'm in the middle of a Scooby Doo episode, and that when they go to unmask the bad guy, there won't be one, but ten and they'll all be my teachers.

Freaked out and scared,

Harry

* * *

Petunia opened the most recent missive, her eyes widening just at the condition of the letter. The writing was jagged as though written by a shaking hand and the page was stained with tears.

Aunt Petunia,

I killed. The defense teacher doesn't have a stutter. It was an act. He was a member of the gang that murdered my parents. We ended up in a room alone together, he had me tied up for awhile. Then he went psycho... having a conversation with himself using two different voices. He untied the ropes 'cause he wanted me to help him get something and when I couldn't do it he grabbed my throat. One of his two voices kept yelling, "Kill him! Kill him!" I couldn't draw a breath and I thought I was going to die. My arms were flaying about as he shook me and my hand snagged on a blow torch. I pointed it at his face and flipped it on. Even while I was burning him he refused to let go of my throat. One of his two voices was screaming in pain and the other continued to chant, "Kill him! Kill him!" I closed my eyes but I could still hear his screams and smell the flesh burning. The room went dark with spots and I passed out. When I came to I was in the hospital wing and I was told that the guy was dead.

I don't know whether to be angry or scared. Aren't security checks supposed to be done before someone is hired! How could the school hire someone as a teacher who is essentially an active Natzi! Come to find out, the thing the bears were guarding was worth a lot and the insane Headmaster purposely set this trap in the school to draw the bad guy in! How in the world does this guy still have the job as head of a boarding school!

It's taken ten years for me to admit you were right, but you were. This place is packed full of senseless, scary, freaks who couldn't give two pence about the safety of children. Is there no place safe!?

I've barley slept in a week. Everytime I close my eyes, even for a moment, I relieve that awful night and when I do sleep it is the only thing I dream about. (That and lions and dragons and bears, oh my!) Remember when Mr. Wilson, the fourth year maths teacher died? Next day the school was flooded with psychologist talking to classes and individual students, helping them deal with it. Here...nothing, nota, zilch. If your body is fine, 'cept for a bruised neck, you must be ready to move on with life. They didn't even mention his death to the rest of the school! Just said his classes were cancelled for the rest of term and the students cheered.

I killed a man and no one cares.

Wishing for a different life,

Harry

Petunia wadded up the note and threw it in the bin. She couldn't believe she'd ever bought into this rubbish or into the brat's suggestion that it would make good gossip. She'd shared a few of the tidbits while out to tea, but had stopped when friends and neighbors started eyeing her like _she_ was the freak! But try as she might, she couldn't keep herself from reading each one. She'd even snagged one out of the fire just as the flames started to lick at it. How ironic when it turned out to be about a dragon.

Summer came and summer went and each day she checked the mail for the latest bit of gossip from a castle in the Scotish Highlands.

* * *

Author's Note:  
6/27/14  
This version is meant to be continued, assuming people like it and inspiration strikes. I have also written a companion piece with an alternate and more definite ending, incase this story is not continued. I have written scattered scenes for Deductive Thought, but I suspect that I won't be ready to post any of it until at least August.

Reviews are welcome (preferably favorable ones). :)


End file.
